


Trapped

by annabeth_at_the_helm



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: A wee bit of smut, Bisexual Hawkeye Pierce, M/M, Technically cheating, a wee bit of angst, get your words out dialogue challenge, mentions of crossdressing (pantyhose), unrequited-to-requited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 16:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18237107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_at_the_helm/pseuds/annabeth_at_the_helm
Summary: "6:45? At precisely 6:45 I was trimming my nose hair."





	Trapped

"You missed a bangin' party in the supply tent this mornin'. Nurse Baker even took her brassiere all the way off, for once. Shame you didn' show up." Trapper knelt on the floor, flyswatter in hand, nose wrinkled. "An' jus' so ya know, Hawk, the cockroaches are takin' over. Racin' ones are fine, but now they brought their families, an—" he snapped the flyswatter down, presumably trying to end the life of one of those family members.

"I didn't know I was invited. Besides, some of us are on duty," Hawkeye said primly, raising his chin to see if he could find any whiskers he'd missed shaving. "You must not have the same silver touch I have. Nurse Baker always takes her brassiere off for me." This was not strictly true—in fact it was a complete and utter fabrication—but he couldn't actually let Trapper _know_ that, could he? "I'm sure I was much too busy. What time was this, ah, party?"

"6:45," Trapper replied. "The knees of my pants are ruined. I think they've gone into the army." He stood, a bit creakily, and wandered over to his bunk, which was currently half-covered in dirty socks, dirty magazines, and likely lice and bedbugs, and swept his hand along it, sending everything cascading to the floor. Hawkeye winced as the noise strummed the guitar of pain in his aching head.

"At 6:45? At precisely 6:45 I was trimming my nose hair," Hawkeye said flippantly. Truthfully, at 6:45 he was lying insensate from gin on his cot, drooling onto the mattress and dreaming about something other than a nice pair of breasts. A nice pair of hazel eyes, to be exact. Too bad that nice pair of hazel eyes were busy looking at a nice pair of breasts that morning, instead of other, more interesting places.

Like the inside of Hawkeye's army shorts, for example.

"Ya trimmed your nose hair two days ago," Trapper said, because he wasn't stupid. "I know, because you stole my nail scissors for it. What _you_ don' know, is that I trimmed _my_ nose hair with them first."

Clearly, Hawkeye was supposed to be appalled. Rather, he raised one eyebrow and regarded Trapper, who was looking fine in a shaft of sunlight, blonde curls mussed—he quashed the jealousy he felt, knowing it was probably Nurse Baker's fingers that had done that—and hazel eyes heavy lidded. The man was straight. He was so straight that he was married and, despite that, still chased nurses all day and all night. Hawkeye knew that.

He knew he had no chance. So why did he wake up from dreams of those hazel eyes? About tousling those blonde curls himself? About kisses that left those lips swollen and red like ripe cherries? About feeling that overbite under his mouth?

And now, judging from Trapper's expression, he'd been silent too long. Crap.

"Better that than shaving your legs with my razor," Hawkeye said, rinsing his face and wiping it on a towel.

"How do you know I haven'? 'Sides, you always steal my razor, not the other way 'round." Trapper let his head flop backwards.

"Because I would have noticed if those legs were suddenly smooth enough for pantyhose," Hawkeye said, smooth sailing on their conversational course until Trapper sat up, eyes widened. "What?" He widened his own eyes, trying to play it off. Trapper, though, as with so many things regarding his best friend, was not fooled.

"Ya feelin' my legs up while I'm sleepin', Hawk?" he asked, mirroring Hawkeye's raised eyebrow back at him. Oh, double crap. The best offense was sometimes the best defense—in this case, making all the questionable jokes so no one looked too deeply—but Trapper had always looked too deeply at Hawkeye, a fact to forget at his peril.

"Why, I'm appalled," Hawkeye said, averting his eyes. But he could see the shadows shift even before the footsteps that came closer and closer.

"You been thinkin' about me in pantyhose, Hawk?" he asked softly, breath so close Hawkeye could feel it bathe his ear. He shivered involuntarily and tried to bend down, to do something, _anything_ , to draw attention away from that shiver. But as soon as he bent, a hand landed on his back, at the base of his spine. "You cold? It's about a hundred degrees outside, you know."

Oh, he knew. It was a hundred degrees in here, too, but for a different reason. His body temperature felt like it was skyrocketing, and not in the best way. A little sweat and maybe Trapper would catch on… a little lower eye contact and Trapper would know. He was so screwed. And to think, he'd kept a lid on it this long. He'd almost thought he'd be able to ride out the tide of the war without any inconvenient hard ons being noticed by his best friend.

"I'd say you don't have the legs for it," Hawkeye said in a voice that felt as swampy as the inside of his shorts after a long day and night in the OR, "but that would be telling."

"Hawk," Trapper said, and his thumb began a slow revolution on his lower back, "Nurse Baker didn' flash her titties at you, ever. Nurse Baker ain't never taken her brassiere off."

Hawkeye stiffened, frozen in the act of pulling on one sock, still bent double—and beginning to feel very vulnerable in such a position.

"How would you know—"

"Because at 6:45 this a.m.," Trapper said, slipping the elastic down a millimeter closer to the crack of Hawkeye's ass, a drop of sweat rolling down the slope of his back after it like even his sweat lusted after Trapper, "I was not in the supply tent. I was in here." He paused. His thumb slid a tiny fraction of an inch beneath the elastic. "Listenin' to ya in your sleep."

Oh, shit. Hawkeye wasn't sure what he was expecting, but that wasn't it. Neither was the way Trapper was slowly torturing him with his thumb and now one of his fingers, which followed the thumb like it was the pied piper. He stood up, slowly, and realized Trapper was so close—too close—when his back flattened against Trapper's bare chest and trapped his fingers where they were, now unmoving, but dipped delicately in between his ass cheeks.

"I'd say I had no idea, but that would be lyin'. Do ya really think I don' notice ya, Hawk? Those erections in the showers? Those glances at—" he stopped, just for a breath, then exhaled. "You didn' notice? Hawkeye, you didn' notice _mine_?" He sounded stunned.

Well, when he put it _that_ way…

"I was too busy trying not to," Hawkeye said miserably. This was it, then. He was going to—wait. _What?_

"Hawk, you're supposed to have sharp eyes. Right? Yet somehow 'Hawkeye' never noticed I'd get aroused by you lookin'?" His chest moved back slightly, and he swept his fingers the rest of the way into Hawkeye's army shorts. "Right. Why don' we get better acquainted, a little later, in the supply tent, and maybe I'll let ya see me in pantyhose? Ya think I'd make a cute nurse?"

"You're much too big," Hawkeye said, not referring to his height, and laughed in relief. And Trapper? He laughed right along with him, even as his finger circled Hawkeye's hole, his actions blocked from the open tent flaps by Hawkeye's body. Too bad anyone looking might catch an eyeful of Hawkeye's straining army shorts, the cotton soft but taut across his aroused cock.

Still, it was a shame when Trapper stepped away. A shame for now, but maybe not so much shame for later.


End file.
